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(Closed For DarkEmpress )
It is 1645 in England. James the 1st is on the throne, unpopular with Parliament for his tolerance of Catholicism and heavy-handed assertion of his Divine Right. His taxes and edicts are unpopular, and strife and religious conflict flourish in the environment of mistrust and uncertainty.
More women are accused of witchcraft than ever before on English soil. Armed with their manual and raison d'etre, the Malleus Maleficarum, (Hammer of Witches, or Der Hexenhammer in German, its original language) witch hunters all over England, but primarily in East Anglia, pursue rumor of witchcraft and seek to destroy the menace. Many accused are innocent of any crime. Mental illness, herbalism, or birthmarks might doom someone. So might the potential for financial gain for the accuser. Times of social strife bring mass hysteria, spelling danger for the different. Witches are accused of all manner of licentious, debased, and vile acts, and are rumored to gain wicked powers over the sexual desire of men by performing The Black Kiss upon the asshole of Satan. They are thought of in evil and lurid terms, attended by passionate, vehement reactions.
Into and from this mad world came a horseman, bound for Colchester.
~~~~~
Simon Greene rode along in the dust, the rains not yet come to dampen and freshen the land. Licking his lips and squinting against the wind that blew across the road, he noticed a struggle far ahead. It was too far to see was happening clearly, but it seemed to be two men harassing a lone traveler. Greene stayed calm, but urged his mount on slightly, trying to get a better look. He looked over his own arms- two braces of pistols, a musket, his sword and main gauche, a long, heavy cavalry hammer in the forward scabbard engraved with words of power in Latin.
As he neared, Simon saw that the two men had dragged their quarry into the trees, and the rogue nearest the road was looking to reset the trap, fading into the growth, perhaps to make a spring as he neared.
He tied off the reins loosely and rode with his knees. St. Michael was his black Vanner horse's name, and the animal quickened to a trot under Greene's command. Simon drew a pistol with his left hand, the hammer with his right, and held them flat against St. Michael. They slowed. The brush moved, revealing the thug's hiding spot, and Greene slowly raised the pistol, brought the hammer across his back for a quick, concealed swing.
"Never harm a servant of God" were the last words either man heard.
Simon wept as he saw the evidence that he had arrived too late. He gave the girl a Catholic burial, then he whipped himself for more than an hour in penance for his caution leading to the death of an innocent. He was God's tool, not to take care for his own safety. Large welts and long scars transfigured the flesh of his back.
He dressed in his highway attire of dark breeches, heavy boots, long canvas coat, and wide-brimmed leather hat in the hidden area where he'd buried the girl, and got back on the road to Colchester. Simon arrived late that night, stopped at an Inn with the sign of St. Martin giving his cloak to a beggar. He ate heartily before the fire, said his prayers, and bedded down. Tomorrow, he would seek information regarding his quarry.
He hoped he would be pure enough to do God's work.
(Closed For DarkEmpress )
It is 1645 in England. James the 1st is on the throne, unpopular with Parliament for his tolerance of Catholicism and heavy-handed assertion of his Divine Right. His taxes and edicts are unpopular, and strife and religious conflict flourish in the environment of mistrust and uncertainty.
More women are accused of witchcraft than ever before on English soil. Armed with their manual and raison d'etre, the Malleus Maleficarum, (Hammer of Witches, or Der Hexenhammer in German, its original language) witch hunters all over England, but primarily in East Anglia, pursue rumor of witchcraft and seek to destroy the menace. Many accused are innocent of any crime. Mental illness, herbalism, or birthmarks might doom someone. So might the potential for financial gain for the accuser. Times of social strife bring mass hysteria, spelling danger for the different. Witches are accused of all manner of licentious, debased, and vile acts, and are rumored to gain wicked powers over the sexual desire of men by performing The Black Kiss upon the asshole of Satan. They are thought of in evil and lurid terms, attended by passionate, vehement reactions.
Into and from this mad world came a horseman, bound for Colchester.
~~~~~
Simon Greene rode along in the dust, the rains not yet come to dampen and freshen the land. Licking his lips and squinting against the wind that blew across the road, he noticed a struggle far ahead. It was too far to see was happening clearly, but it seemed to be two men harassing a lone traveler. Greene stayed calm, but urged his mount on slightly, trying to get a better look. He looked over his own arms- two braces of pistols, a musket, his sword and main gauche, a long, heavy cavalry hammer in the forward scabbard engraved with words of power in Latin.
As he neared, Simon saw that the two men had dragged their quarry into the trees, and the rogue nearest the road was looking to reset the trap, fading into the growth, perhaps to make a spring as he neared.
He tied off the reins loosely and rode with his knees. St. Michael was his black Vanner horse's name, and the animal quickened to a trot under Greene's command. Simon drew a pistol with his left hand, the hammer with his right, and held them flat against St. Michael. They slowed. The brush moved, revealing the thug's hiding spot, and Greene slowly raised the pistol, brought the hammer across his back for a quick, concealed swing.
"Never harm a servant of God" were the last words either man heard.
Simon wept as he saw the evidence that he had arrived too late. He gave the girl a Catholic burial, then he whipped himself for more than an hour in penance for his caution leading to the death of an innocent. He was God's tool, not to take care for his own safety. Large welts and long scars transfigured the flesh of his back.
He dressed in his highway attire of dark breeches, heavy boots, long canvas coat, and wide-brimmed leather hat in the hidden area where he'd buried the girl, and got back on the road to Colchester. Simon arrived late that night, stopped at an Inn with the sign of St. Martin giving his cloak to a beggar. He ate heartily before the fire, said his prayers, and bedded down. Tomorrow, he would seek information regarding his quarry.
He hoped he would be pure enough to do God's work.
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